


Eye of the Beholder

by Icecat62



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2210394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icecat62/pseuds/Icecat62
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Art is in the eye of the beholder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> Romance Challenge. Originally posted to RedSuitsYou in December 2000.

He didn't know how he had gotten himself into this mess. One moment he was chatting with the diplomat from France over a cup of punch and the next minute he had found himself agreeing to pose nude for a charity fund raiser at the Chicago Center for the Arts. Closing his eyes, he swallowed nervously. He didn't normally pray, but he found himself now silently begging God to make sure he didn't make a complete ass out of himself. He also begged that no one who personally knew him would be here. 

Opening his eyes, he began to slowly disrobe. Carefully setting his stetson, Sam Brown and red serge down on the chair next to him, he reached down. Unlacing his boots, he could hear the sounds of women talking. Several women as a matter of fact. Women who had paid top dollar to come and sketch some of the best looking male figures that Chicago had to offer.

He was one of two other models handpicked by the French diplomat. She had pleaded her case with him. Begged him to do this. "You would be helping to keep the arts alive. You do like the arts do you not?"

Yes he did. He loved classical music, he loved the opera, he love Shakespeare. How could he refuse her and still look at himself in the mirror every day?

Setting his boots aside, he took off his jophers and socks. His thumbs hooked their way into his starched white boxers, slowly peeling them off. Folding them neatly he placed them on the chair with the rest of his clothing.

A cool breeze caressed his naked skin, causing his nipples to harden. Looking down at himself, he frowned. If he got too cold, he would be doubly embarrassed. A model wasn't supposed to be shriveled up. Rubbing his hands together, he then began to shake his arms and legs, trying to get the blood flowing.

"Are you ready Constable?" He jumped at her voice. The French diplomat stepped into the room, looking him over. A slow smile appeared on her face. "I knew you would be perfect. So like a marble work of art."

He felt his face growing hot, he knew his blush was now making it's way to his chest.

"Do not be embarrassed. The male form 'is' a work of art. You should be proud that you can be of service in this manner. You are using what you have to benefit the arts." She waved a hand toward the door and handed him a plain cotton robe. 

Fraser quickly yanked it on, relieved to cover himself from her prying eyes.   
*Dear Lord, I can't do this.*

Walking slowly, he followed her out to the main room. His eyes locked on the platform that he would be standing on. He was to be at center stage, a standing nude. It was the perfect thing for him to do, being that he stood sentry duty. He could stand as still as a statue for the hour that he was to be sketched.

Totally ignoring the women who were standing by their easels, he stepped up on the platform. Taking a deep breath, he took the robe off and let it drop to his feet in a pool of white cloth. He could do this. These women were artists. They weren't ogling him like he was a male stripper. They were there to draw a nude and support the arts with their generous donations. He had been told that the ten women here had paid a thousand dollars a piece for the chance to do this. He would do his part and then leave. No one was getting hurt by him doing this.

Trying to relax, he shifted himself into a stance that Michelangelo would have been proud of. Classic, but not so stiff that he looked like a mannequin. Evening out his breathing, he settled himself for the one hour that he would be there.

Listening to the soft scratching of pencils and the dragging of brushes, Fraser did relax. No one cared who he was. No one knew him. He was just a beautiful body to copy onto a piece of paper or canvas. The time passed quickly. Before he knew it, the French diplomat was making her way around the room, thanking everyone for their contribution.

Bending down to retrieve his robe, he looked up. Letting his eyes finally scan the room, he watched the women as they chatted or packed their art supplies away. He had been right. He was nothing more than what he was supposed to be. He was a model for their creative outlet. Nothing more. Then he saw 'her'.

His heart skipped a beat as one of the women peered around her easel. A small smile was on her lips, her eyes sparkled with laughter and...lust. He froze like a deer in headlights. *Oh dear!* There was no mistaking that face. The auburn hair. He wasn't imagining things. She kept her eyes locked with his as she walked toward the platform.

Once she reached where he stood frozen in place, her smile widened. "Good evening Constable Fraser."

His mouth opened and closed. Swallowing, he stuttered out his reply. "Um...good evening...Inspector Thatcher." Mortified. He was mortified. For the past hour he had stood naked in front of her. She had stared at him this entire time. She had drawn his...oh my!

"Fraser do you make it a habit of posing in the nude or is this something you've just begun to do?"

"I...well...Miss LeDuex...the French...she asked me to help... and....oh dear."

To his surprise Thatcher began to giggled. "Fraser don't worry. I knew about this. Miss LeDuex had sought my approval on this venture of yours prior to you doing it. She had wanted to make sure that Canada would approve."

Looking him over from head to toe, her smile grew even wider. "I believe that Canada would have been proud of your efforts. To raise funds for the arts." She turned and walked back to her easel and began to pack her supplies.

He couldn't move. She had just told him in a round about way, that she thought what he had was good.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped off the platform and made his way over to Thatcher. Walking behind her, he looked at the pencil sketch that she had done of him. It was exquisite. Perfect. "I didn't know that you were an artist."

Thatcher gave him a coy look over her shoulder. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Fraser." There was no mistaking the teasing quality of her voice.

She continued talking to him as she packed her things. "I was wondering. Would it be possible for you to come over to my apartment when you leave here? As you can see, I didn't get to finish my drawing."

He looked at the sketch and then back at her. He knew she was done. He knew what she was offering him.

"I suppose...well, I don't think I have anything else planned."

She smiled again as she took the sketch and placed it in a leather case. "Good. I'm sure you can remember your pose. I just need to work on a few things." Her voice was heavily laden with innuendo when she said things.

Willing his heart to slow down its rapid beating, he took a few calming breaths. It wouldn't do for him to physically embarrass himself here. He would let her know just how much he felt about her when they arrived at her apartment. When he posed for her, he would definitely let her know then. Hiding a smile of his own, Fraser excused himself. "I'll go and get dressed."

Thatcher nodded her head yes, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. "I'll be waiting out in the foyer by the front doors."

Walking back to the small room where he had changed, Fraser practically yanked his clothing on. Maybe if he were lucky Thatcher would let him sketch 'her' in the nude. If he were luckier, maybe they could work on a few 'artist' endeavors together. 

END


End file.
